Coldness
by sahane
Summary: Darkfic, contains some light slash. The Last Battle has ended, and Harry has nothing left to live for... or has he?


Disclaimer: Harry, Severus and the rest of those wonderful characters that we all know are property of J.K. Rowling, and I just have borrowed them for a while, hope nobody gets angry... ^_^

Attention! This story could have disturbing elements for some of you, like a m/m kiss and violent situations. You have been warned, don't send me flames after, please.

In response to Maeglin Yedi's challenge on the After_Class group: Make a drabble of 100-500 words that includes the word evanesce. Well, 800 it's a bit higher, but as it is my first challenge, one can indulge a bit isn't it?

Like you can see at my author page, English is not my mother language, and therefore it's problable that, even after checking and re-checking this story, mistakes can surely be found. If you do, please do tell me in a review, and I'll correct them as soon as I can. Anything more? Not for now... enjoy!

Coldness:

Harry cast the Killing Curse with more exhaustion than anger. As the green light struck upon its target, he couldn't feel more than a cold sensation of conclusion. That was what his life's purpose had been, and now it was fulfilled. Didn't matter if he died there and then or a hundred years later, because he didn't knew anymore who he was. Without a Voldemort, it couldn't be a Boy-Who-Lived, right? Without a Hogwarts, it couldn't be a Harry Potter, could it?

He remembered the lifeless faces of his friends, and felt the growing coldness of Dumbledore's body, fallen at his feet, seeping into his bones, mingling with the coldness inside him. He idly wondered if casting the Killing Curse on oneself could be possible, and how many days would pass until he tried to discover it.

He watched the shrieks of his fallen nemesis. The bastard couldn't die quickly, not a chance in hell. He had to have tied his soul to this realm with so many protections that even the Avada Kedavra wouldn't act as it should. Annoyance shone in green emerald eyes. Didn't Riddle realize that he had an experiment to perform? He was so cold inside that it hurt, and yet he had to watch that snake-like thing revolve in pain for an undetermined amount of time. No way.

The knife was comfortable in his hand, keeping a warmth that couldn't possibly be from his calf, could it? He played with it, tracing lines on his palm, and looking clinically at red paths that grew over his skin. That felt nice, but...he still had a thing to take care of.

Stopping the thrashing was difficult, and it finally involved more contact than Harry would have desired, but it had its benefits once he was eye to eye with him. Harry marvelled at the myriad of emotions that travelled across those red eyes once he began to cut slowly and deeply. Strangely, relief was not one that he expected when Voldemort uttered 'Master...' before the spark evanesced of slit pupils. Anyway, he didn't give a shit about Voldemort's feelings. He had knifes to use, experiments to conduct and rests to take. The world could now go to hell, in his humble opinion.

He got up, wiped his hands, and turned to Apparate. A spell stopped that train of action. There, less than a few steps from Harry, a black-clad figure contrasted with the pale light of dawn. He had known that man, his brain insisted on saying, in a life that seemed too far ago. That didn't fucking matter, the frozen space within him replied, only the beauty of the metal mattered now, the sleekness of a wand point on his forehead.

'Congratulations, Potter. Finally you have rid the world of your nemesis.' The man said, moving closer to him, and his billowing black robes pressured Harry to get out of there and go with the plan. Darkness was calling to him, and who was he to ignore the call? 'Pity that Tom had that disgusting obsession with your father to begin with. He never recovered fully from your first encounter, and he was a such good servant before... Anyway, now that your filthy lot has deliciously killed themselves in that battle, things should go smoother to the rise of the real Dark Lord. Let me express my appreciation...'

The man grabbed Harry's shoulders, and brought his head to him, capturing Harry's lips in a harsh kiss. Heat flooded from the searing pressure on his mouth to his coldness inside, and Harry opened it to provide better access to that dark fire. Then a demanding tongue proceeded to conquer and devour every single bit of him, so hard that it was a miracle that it didn't peel his skin, and the darkness inside burst in black flames, making Harry forget knifes, wands and his own name. And it felt good to be dominated like that, being hold so tightly that it would cause bruises on the morning, because it made him feel again. Pain, pleasure, didn't matter, only the decreasing coldness did.

And when teeth caught his lower lip and bit passionately, drawing blood, Harry moaned and lifted his hand, smearing a blood mark along his partner face, and not minding at all when a tongue licked the cuts, carefully prodding on the wounds, because pain felt so good...

Face being hold by a strong hand, his eyes locked with coal ones, the flames within him growing to a blazing inferno. And those lips graced him one more time, marking him more than a black tattoo could ever do, tearing through him in a fiery bolt, before they mouthed two words:

__

'Avada Kedavra' 

And while he fell to the ground, vision clouding quickly, watched how the other shouted his triumph to the grey sky, laughing freely for the first time.

Some time later, he awakened with a painful headache, still on the muddy countryside, cold and stiff and dirty and tired, but worlds better than before. Because the Killing Curse had refused him again, and this time he had a new purpose: he had to found the Dark Lord, and this time Severus wouldn't have to fear the Boy-Who-Lived, because Harry had discovered what was his new destination. Found him, be with him, go back to feel again.

He stood up unsteadily and marched out of the field, a few curses taking care of those who tried to stop him. He had things to do.

finis

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